Cheating the System
by Liebling
Summary: ‘But maybe it isn't supposed to be fair. It's a sick and twisted definition of justice . . . but at least it's justice.’ Draco


A/N: Draco/Pansy halfway sweet, halfway uh not? Lol. I like it though. It's an odd POV and opinion on their relationship but tis nice.  
  
Enjoy my darlings.  
  
;)  
  
Disclaimer: All JK's.  
  
For epiphanies because you rock socks and write the best D/P in absolute history. *claps*  
  
'You can hire great lawyers, you can speak to your friends  
  
you can say he did this and that some things don't change  
  
Unwrap the present and burn the remains  
  
but you'll know you were loved.'  
  
-Lou Reed 'You'll Know You Were Loved'  
  
*  
  
There's this thing.  
  
This thing they tell you about the lonely people...  
  
When you're lonely, you'll always find someone. Someone who's just as lonely as you and more than half as pitiful.  
  
And you'll try to come across as strong and dignified, and you may make it.  
  
So they ganged up.  
  
A boy and a girl.  
  
The girl is ditsy and terribly...usual. You know the sort. She has ebony hair and it's really wavy, like pasta. And she wears a velvet black bow in it, it'd be really childish, but it isn't. She's intelligent, and she never lets it on. You aren't supposed to, either. They don't know how she got smart it came with her. An innate part of her soul. And she's no angel, really. She is without a halo, but at least she isn't self-righteous. She's such a baby too, she whines and pouts and tries to get her way. And she does. Of course she does. Life is not so easy, it never is. It's usually hard and tough, and more so because of her perception. And they live in a nice manor; it's cold and Victorian style. And it's gorgeous, but it's still cold.  
  
She has a friend too.  
  
Just one.  
  
But if you've got the right person...one is enough.  
  
He's intelligent and you could probably just guess it. It's stereotyping, but it's okay. His eyes look haunted, like someone who's been through a lot. He probably has been. His eyes are the color of light pencil lead and he's so pale. Like freshly fallen snow. He's so stuck up that sometimes, or rather most of the time you want to kill him. He's annoying, you know. They all are. Often he smokes a cigarette, not the expensive kind. It's surprising, not the cigarette, but the cheap thing. Everyone knows that cheap cigarettes taste awful.  
  
Even you, probably.  
  
And they become friends for no apparent reason. Maybe it's blood, maybe it's loneliness, but whatever it is it's a sticky substance that, well, sticks. They're stubborn people with skulls made of a rock-like substance, and that's part the beauty of them, really. So they clash a lot, and get in loud arguments.  
  
She calls him 'Mister. Malfoy' when she's angry and he calls her a 'Scarlet Woman.' And she gets angry and goes off about calling ladies ugly names and he goes off about how Mister Malfoy is stiff and formal and so very not him. But it is him.  
  
But it still isn't okay.  
  
Then they drink tea, or was it vodka? And they eat crumpets and talk of nothing...or maybe it was something. They've forgotten. He'll tell her tales of dragons and gallant princes, pretty things. She'll giggle and he'll say: "Why must I tell you these stories?"  
  
She'll snicker and say, "because they're pretty." He'll roll his eyes and probably continue, if no one's around. No one can figure out why they have their arms around each other or why they feed each other acid pops that burn their tongues. It's quite unexplainable, really. And even the Slytherins, a rather smart lot, have no clue.  
  
It's a mystery. And it's sort of odd and nice that way. Sort of.  
  
These tales he'll tell, they've got undertones of cynicism. But just undertones. And she picks up on them and demands that he change it.  
  
He doesn't.  
  
And they're innocent in this entirely un-innocent sort of way. They smoke in the lavatories, they drink in the corridors, they snog on the velvet jade couch. They tell dirty jokes and say dirty things, they plan deaths and killings. The two trip first years and get out of detentions, they lie and cheat. And they don't need to steal...they can get it themselves. Sometimes they suck up to the clueless professors and study just the night before.  
  
They cheat the system.  
  
Over and over again.  
  
They do spells they aren't supposed to do till' they're older. They don't like age restrictions. They betray people right and left and you'd be amazed to hear...they trust each other.  
  
She trusts him even after all the people he has made want to die and has hurt. She trusts him even though he's lied to Snape, Dumbledore, Umbridge, Potter, and more. But Potter doesn't count, not really. And neither does Dumbledore. But, really. He's made their hearts and their heads hurt and he chuckles dryly. And sneers. She even trusts him after he cheated on her Charms test and taken bits of bacon from her plate. Even after she said 'times' during Fencing and he continued.  
  
He trusts her too. And he knows he probably shouldn't. But it's essential, to 'business' you know. She kisses Blaise sometimes and it makes Blaise really happy, and then he buys her a pretty crystal bracelet or a satchel of Honeydukes candy. It's a silly deal. But it's still a deal. She uses people for her own devices and licks Snape's shoes so much he must have her tongue mark on those brown buckled shoes. Oh, and she takes his cloak and goes jaunting in it. She says it looks prettier on her. He doesn't think so.   
  
This relationship thrives on common knowledge. About "Dark Stuff" you know, "Dark Secret Stuff." No one knows much about it so they keep it hidden they tell secrets in the corridors and whisper during class. No one notices. The others, they're so bloody stupid. And they go in a corner and talk and sometimes even giggle, and it's still about Dark Stuff. It's still about stuff you shouldn't know about. Or so they say.  
  
The follow Umbridge around with clipboards and they still whisper and they don't need to kiss Umbridge's shoes. She already likes them too much. They're made part of her little gang, it's nice. A really nice Power Play. They take points away from Gryffindors for reasons, really, good reasons. Like breathing too loud and not tucking in shirts or having ties tied. Perfectly valid reasons, don't you think? But it's their own definition of fairness, and it really isn't fair.  
  
But maybe it isn't supposed to be fair. It's a sick and twisted definition of justice...but at least it's justice.  
  
They kiss sometimes and swear it means absolutely nothing. It isn't supposed to mean anything, after all. Just two children having fun on an old pumpkin-pasty stained couch from the '40's.  
  
And that's it.  
  
Or is it?  
  
It's easier when you think of it like that.  
  
She promises herself that's it. He hopes that's all it is.  
  
She doesn't promise enough and he doesn't hope enough.  
  
They say the two have confidence problems. Oh we aren't talking insecurity, we aren't talking anything of the sort--we're talking arrogance. And they do have this odd disorder of course. She wipes it away as 'confidence' he feels he as reason to be as arrogant as he pleases...maybe he does.  
  
They'll never tell you...but they really do adore each other. Like pumpkin pie and whipped cream, and grass and mud, long noses and pretty eyelashes. It's an unstated thing, very unstated, probably never been said. But it's a nice unstated thing. Like standing in the rain and speaking sarcastically.  
  
His parents beg him to marry her. He smiles or rather...smirks and says, "You know Ms. Parkinson and I are perfectly good mates." And he leaves it at that. But he can't hide a small smile as he walks back upstairs.  
  
She'd like being 'Lady Malfoy' and she'd equally like being his wife. He is not a nice boy, but he is of substance. She would like the pretty gowns and balls, but she's already had enough of that to last a lifetime. But what she really wants...is him.  
  
Her parents tell him that he'll pop the question any day now. She's disgusted. Rightfully so. She blinks...far too much and mutters something vague about Mister Malfoy being a git and goes back to reading. Something of Charlotte Bronte's.   
  
The next day she kisses him quickly and no questions are asked except for: "When are we going to kill Potter?" The answer? Well "As soon as possible" of course. They eat acid pops and drink tequila on a small hill near his Manor. And he wraps his cloak around her shoulders.  
  
"You'll be far too cold," she mutters and takes it off, "really."  
  
"I'm fine," he says, holding back shivers.  
  
"You're a bloody baby," she says, "put it on." So he puts back on his cloak and glares at her.  
  
She glares back.  
  
They spend a very long time on that hill. The time is never counted, but it's late. Real late. The stars are showing up and they're glittering in the sky like specs of glitter on ebony nailpolish. They sit in silence a lot of the time, but talk some of the time. She brings up 'next year' and he brings up 'forever' and it's a nice conversation. The boy mutters something darkly about his parents bugging him about asking for her hand.  
  
She laughs. In a very unbelievable sort of way. "Oh please," she says, "like that'll ever happen."  
  
"Exactly!' He remarks. "Over my dead and ravaged body."  
  
It's a lovely thought...really.  
  
Smiling slightly he kisses her once more. Right on her dark cherry lips, it's quick as the moonlight shines upon them. He smells of old spices and faint rum; it's a nice smell. Like coldness and fresh rain. And the minutes last forever.  
  
And the idea of marriage is absolutely preposterous.  
  
Although not so awful.  
  
They're two children, ready for anything and going for anything. No goals in sight, no documents stating they're brilliant. They've got absolutely nothing, really. She doesn't even have a home, Mummy kicked her out, and he doesn't even have his good marks going for him anymore.   
  
And they've got nothing...and everything  
  
They've got each other.  
  
And that shall have to do.  
  
~*~  
  
La Fin 


End file.
